The Rainbow Crest
by aikotters
Summary: Harry Potter's ordinary life comes to an abrupt halt when a strange test causes him to glow. And other people. Soon enough he's off to the Digital Training Academy of Hogwarts with his first friends and rivals. The strange girl who picked him up is full of secrets, however, and if feels like someone is watching him. Also what is a Crest, anyway?
1. Chapter 1

_Warnings: Canonical character death_

* * *

Chapter One - The Last Day

The Dursley family was proud to a fault of how ordinary they were, from top to bottom. Their son was a good little tot, already deciding what he wanted and declaring it so. That very day, their son had learned a new word after upending his cereal: "won't" and though he made an incredible mess, it just meant he was developing a sense of knowledge and belonging and of himself.

To them, that was normal. To them, that was how things should be.

In Surrey, the world and its people focused on living with their jobs and playing each other as most would do chess. Few were interested in creativity and those who were didn't last long. They tended to leave for better, less rigid pastures. And Surrey, particularly Little Whinging, was proud of this sort of behavior.

Therefore Vernon Dursley left for work expecting a quiet, ordinary day. His cell phone buzzed of course, but that was merely his boss, reminding him of his one o' clock meeting and his friends inviting him for a pint this weekend. He debated accepting. One pint usually turned into at least three and with him being the driver, that could be fairly messy if it did not end well.

But he always looked for a chance to set himself in a good position, so he may as well accept.

A cat watched him walk to his car, brand new and barely lost its sheen to the rain. It was a tabby yes but something about it seemed somewhat off. As it padded across his wife's carefully fenced off garden, the strides seemed too wide, too heavy.

 _Perhaps it's a feral. They've been a problem recently, scaring babies and leaving their dead everywhere and getting into gardens._

He grumbled about this until he got into his car, at which point after leaving home and meeting oncoming traffic, he promptly forgot about the cat and the problems the cat brought into things. Instead, he embraced yelling at his fellow drivers about how they would make him late and would put him in poor standing with his boss.

That was until he saw, out of the corner of his eye, something land on the car beside him with a _child on its back._

Even though his window, he could hear the child screaming and laughing delight as the great yellow creature took off onto another car.

The panic this time was enough to chill his guts.

No… no! This wasn't… it wasn't anything. Nothing of that other world with its extra gadgets and abandonment of tradition, no! Nothing freakish at all.

Certainly not those abhorrent monsters. No, he was just going to forget all about it.

And so he did, until lunch, when he'd decided to splurge and get a pastry from one of his favorite cafes. Mr. Dursley did not carry earbuds or wireless devices for his cell phone. He would rather not have one of the cursed devices at all. He would never know if a monster or something would pop out of it. If his phone didn't connect to his car, there were some days he couldn't start it. So he kept the thing reluctantly.

So unfortunately for him, he could not avoid hearing the whispers throughout the cafe from various people. Hooligans mostly, dressed with 'special clothes' or hoodies, probably had knives or lightsabers in their sweaters. Imbeciles. It was November on a workday. Look professional. Halloween was long passed, it was Monday for Christ's sake.

He was starting to wish that law on the table would simply pass and it would be _done with_ already.

He reached the front of the line, when he heard softly, "The poor Potters…" from behind him. His blood chilled.

"Digitized, was it?" another said, older, but with that same soft reverence. "Nasty business, nasty way to go. Right in front of the crib I heard."

"Yes, their son Harry saw the whole thing. The poor child. He'll never spark at this rate…"

"But he's gone, yes?" A third voice joined the conversation and Mr. Dursley muddled through his order under the watch of surly, eyeshadow drenched eyes. The earrings glowed from her neck and he almost wrinkled his nose, trying to tune out the conversation. "He-The Cursed One, You-Know-Who-"

"Honestly, Janet, he has a name, you can use it."

"I'm not saying it where his _people_ can hear me, you hatter. Besides, I doubt it's actually his name. What kind of chosen-"

The teenager shoved his cinnamon roll and coffee so hard into his hands, Mr Dursley jumped and nearly spilled the latter all over himself. Face flushing hard, he opened his mouth to make a scene, but then happened to glance at the clock. Counting the barista quite unlucky (he had many lessons for ungrateful children such as herself that they could do to take heed from.) he hurried back to work and buried himself in drills and tax forms and not thinking of the Potters.

They couldn't possibly be _those people,_ after all. There were many Potter families, most of them poorly and having nothing to do with well to do people such as themselves. Drunken, misshapen, misguided lot.

Mr. Dursley finished his day in jittery strokes. He even stumbled on the way to his _car_ , he was shaking so much. This would not do. Petunia, Petunia could not hear about this or if she did, only briefly. She was under quite enough stress as it was, yes. Quite.

And yet, now that he was home, he saw them everywhere now. He saw the figures of children dancing with things on their heads and their floppy ears, blue trails on their clothes as they ran down the streets, hooting and hollering with adults on their heels. Mr Dursley furiously kept on the road, shoulders hunched and eyes furious and small.

He was never so relieved to see the space of Little WHinging and Privet Drive so devoid of excitement in his life. And to think, he had once resented the place.

As he parked his car, his relief nearly whooshed out of him at the sight of that damned tabby cat.

"Shoo!" he shouted at it. It licked its paw and brushed its ear, ignoring him. If he didn't know any better, he'd have thought the cat was scoffing at him.

How ridiculous. Cats didn't do that, no matter how strange they were. He would have to have Petunia call pest control in the morning if it wasn't gone before he left for work tomorrow.

Clinging to that thought like a raft, Vernon Dursley went inside.

Inside he was greeted by the sight of his son Dudley wobbling precariously against a truly ugly little table his sister had sent him as a housewarming gift. He plopped down a second later, but pride flushed his heart and sent all the… oddities of the day spiraling away into fatherly joy.

"Lookit you, Dudders!" he proclaimed. "Already trying to run the world, that's my boy."

Infant that he was, his son gurgled in appreciation (he presumed it was appreciation, all good children did that) and mumbled the few words he had grasp on.. Vernon, in a rare display of affection, picked up his son and carried him into the kitchen to see his wife, Petunia, closing the pot over what was likely potatoes. Petunia understood his love of potatoes on Mondays, which were usually the most exasperating days of the workweek. He was even able to smell the roast.

The thin purse of her sharp lips immediately evaporated into a smile at the sight of the two of them. "Welcome home."

And that was a relief to hear.

* * *

Sometime that night, as the Dursleys ate dinner and put themselves to bed, two people appeared in the well-lit street of Privet Drive. One appeared before the other, ropes of velvet leaving blue trails as he walked. Old lamp posts winked out as he passed them, refusing to come back on in the dark. Soon the streets were gloomy. No one looked of course.

The second was smaller, but no less distinct. He strode about in jeans and a tee shirt, two items of clothing that would be out of place on anyone past the age of twenty-two in this neighborhood. They valued traditional, natural values. Not the unnaturalness of the modern age.

Yagami Taichi examined the houses with a squinted gaze, a gray lock of hair flopping over one eyebrow. He half expected someone to run out and hiss in terror at the sight of the rainbow flag pinned lazily to his shirt. He should have worked harder.

Then again, he was in the presence of the famous (or infamous depending on who you asked) Albus Dumbledore. Years of it had lost its significant awe and luster. So he decided to speak freely.

"Here, sir?" he asked. "Have you been drinking Dreamer's Champagne again on your way here? I heard that's all the rage at these wild parties."

The old man chuckled, moving his head to keep his magnificent beard from touching the concrete. "No, unfortunately not. Though it would be nice to try some, I have learned my lesson after 1985."

Taichi nodded slowly, slipping his hands back into his pockets. Youth lifted the laugh lines from his face as he sighed. "Now I know how Koushiro felt…"

"Oh I'm certain he felt better, my boy."

Taichi rolled his eyes in the dark then looked up at the many sparkling stars. "So he's gone? That Lord Voldemort."

"For the moment." Dumbledore let out a heavy sigh. "I cannot say if he is gone for good, that would be too easy, would it not?"

Taichi paused to think Vamdemon's hulking forms and laughter straight out of a comic book, and then rubbed the back of his neck. "Right. Yeah. But his threat's gone."

"Yes," he agreed. "So we must act as if he always will be, and take the necessary strides."

"While working as if he will return tomorrow." Taichi rubbed the back of his head. "Right. Got it." He wrinkled his nose as he cast a look around again. "So… why here?"

"His closest relatives are here. And they will agree to shelter him."

"And that will be all they do, Albus."

A woman's tart voice trailed across the street as the orange cat rose on its hind paws and shifted, A woman dropped from the wall, tartan robe swishing as she walked. Down hopped a much bigger version of said cat, who licked its paws irritably. Taichi's eyes flicked to it and then away, a long practiced, and long ignored, gesture.

"If that much," she finished when she reached them. She inclined her head. "Yagami."

"McGonagall." He glanced at the house she had come from. "That bad huh?"

"Insufferable woman, yes." She scoffed. "That infant of hers is spoiling like old milk and she is not much better. Yelling at the television over some such gossip. Such trivial nonsense."

"They weren't the ones actively in a war," Albus chided gently, smiling all the while.

"Sure they are," Taichi said with a shrug. "It's just one without flashing lights." He sighed. _Should have brought Agumon with me. This place needs a giant yellow dinosaur._

People tolerated Barney, Agumon was harmless compared to _him._

"The news has been giving some interesting details." McGonagall's nostrils flaring. "Shooting stars in Kent, rainbow lights in Malsbury, I even saw some monsters dancing on cars throughout my time here. It's a miracle no one reported anything."

"People have short memories sometimes." Taichi let out a yawn. "Or blinders." He put his hands back in his pockets, for lack of anything better to do with them. "So where is the baby wonder?"

"Hagrid is bringing him."

For the second time that evening, Taichi had the pleasure of seeing McGonagall twitch.

"So it's true then," she said, voice hoarse and raw and tired all at once. "Lily and James… they were…"

"Murdered, yes," Dumbledore agreed, bowing his head for an instant.

"And… and-" McGonagall's pauses were never out of fear, rather her choosing her words carefully. "He is dead as well then?"

"Voldemort is dead, yes," Dumbledore agreed. "As dead as someone like him can be."

McGonagall and Taichi shared a knowing look.

Dumbledore, as was his right, pretended not to see it. Instead he took a lemon sherbet from his pocket. "Would either of you like one?"

"NEver again," Taichi said, eyebrows high and eyes narrowed. He was never taking a sweet from the headmaster again, the last one Agumon had choked on it.

McGonagall shook her head as well, but was looking up at the sky. "Are you certain Hagrid is… trustworthy for a matter of this import?"

"I trust Hagrid with my life," Dumbledore replied, as solemn as a king.

Taichi rolled his eyes. "Yeah but do you trust these… muggles or whatever to not beat the kid? Minerva sounded pretty sure they were terrible."

"Because they bloody well are." McGonagall paused to cough. "The man has all the patience of a drunken suit of armor-"

"And his wife is worse," commented the digimon scratching their ear behind McGonagall's feet. "She let her kid scream his head off until it irritated a neighbor and gossiped so loud I could hear it when we went to explore the other yards! The snakes have a lot to say about this neighborhood, and I'll trust them over any humans who live here."

Dumbledore sighed. "Yes but where else would be better? A society where the world knows his name? Where he is famous for something it is impossible for him to repeat? No, it is best for him to grow up away from that… it is not his burden to bear."

"I still think you could send him to my end," Taichi grumbled. "You're practically raising him to be devoured by those same jackals, you know that right?"

Dumbledore smiled a little. "I would have liked to take your offer, Taichi. However, being with yours will be little better. Our isolated war it may have been, it is not as though _you_ do not have your own spotlight as well."

Taichi scowled and grumbled again, suddenly all the younger in his casual clothes and the twisting frown on his face.

Further conversation was cut off by the loud grumbles of a motorcycle as it roared across the sky and touched down in front of them.

"Do you reckon Black made it that loud on purpose?"

McGonagall snorted at the question and her digimon giggled in reply.

A giant of a man removed himself from the also gargantuan contraption, pulling the goggles away from his beady black eyes. "Pr'fessors," grunted the giant. "Yagami."

Taichi saluted and Dumbledore stepped forward, reaching for the side car. "Any trouble, Hagrid," asked the older man.

"Not 't all, cept for ol' Black running off like the devil got to his heels." Hagrid reached down and lifted up a small bundle swaddled in a blanket. "Fell asleep just as we got ter flyin' over Bristol."

He held the baby out to Dumbledore, who took it. The second his hands were free, he pulled out a handkerchief the size of a picnic blanket and blew his nose into it. It made a sound like an out of tune trumpet. Dumbledore reached out and patted him on the shoulder with one arm.

"It's only a temporary goodbye," Dumbledore tried to assure as McGonagall did the same with Hagrid's other arm.

"Not fer Lily and James, it's not!" Hagrid replied in a voice that even choked up made booms across the ground.

Dumbledore's smile turned thoughtful. "Indeed," he said, voice solemn and old. "Indeed." He pulled away, Taichi watched, with some reluctance.

Taichi let out a sigh. "Give the baby here, Professor. I'll do it."

His elder's blue eyes twinkled. "Why thank you, dear boy."

Taichi scoffed and gently took the small bundle away, along with the envelope that had come from the man's robe. That was awfully nice of him. He could have horrified them and sent an email explaining it all. But then, he supposed that even wizards could be old-fashioned in some ways. He paused a moment to flick one hand into his pocket, examining the front step with the interest of an architect. Only when it glowed a faint orange did he set the baby down onto it. The blanket shone white in the glow of the porch light, illuminating the far spread lightning shaped marks trailing down the baby's dark face.

Taichi lifted himself up as Dumbledore began setting the street to rights and the sobbing Hagrid began to move away.

"Hang in there, Potter," Taichi said quietly. "We take care of our own, but you've got some hell ahead of you."

The baby slept on, oblivious to it all, and would be so until Mrs. Dursley came out to throw away the recycling and shrieked loud enough to deafen a horse. But until then, he was seemingly an ordinary baby boy. He had no idea at this moment, that people were drinking in his honor, celebrating peace.

If only he had. It may have made his life a little easier to bear.

* * *

 ** _A/N:_ **Hey guys I'm back! Still working on blizzard but I have been thinking about this fic for a while. It's going to be a slow goer too because honestly, HP AU. Longspanning. My goal is to complete book one before May in writing and post. And then complete two and write book three while posting and so on.

I'm not going to list all of the changes to the story or tag too much beyond essentials. Anyway, please read and review, it really helps me out! Please let me know if I'm capturing the tone of the books properly! Thanks so much!


	2. Chapter 2

_Warnings: Implied child abuse, self loathing_

* * *

 _Chapter Two - A Minor-Major Birthday Interruption_

Little Harry Potter, currently ten years old (to be eleven if anyone would ask him, which nobody did and therefore nobody really knew) was, without a doubt, currently the most unusual thing in Little Whinging.

For instance, he slept in a cupboard under the stairs. Most children, at least as far as he knew had bedrooms. (The son who lived in this house had two.)

For another, he was small and skinny and dark skinned, with ugly taped up glasses in a world of pale people.

Harry Potter understood three things about his life beyond those facts: don't ask questions, don't protest more than you can get away with, and hard work would not get you happiness, only grudging tolerance. Remembering these things grew easier by the day, especially in regards to his caretakers, the Dursleys.

The Dursleys were a self-admittedly proud, middle class family who tolerated no shirking of duty (unless you were their son), no foolishness (unless you were their son), and no abnormality (unless you were their neighbors, and then they would just make fun of you. They had no tolerance for the quiet, the different, the strange, and as far as they were concerned, their nephew was all of those things and worse, because he was related to them. He was a blemish on their good name and lives. And they never let him forget it.

So, unlike most children as far as he knew, Harry was woken by the loud banging of his aunt Petunia on the door of his room, the cupboard under the stairs.

"Up!" she barks through the slit in the door. "We have Dudley's birthday breakfast and you aren't up to complete it!"

"Yes Aunt Petunia," Harry replied, voice dutiful as he pulled the two large sweaters and holey socks on. The pants he wore were still tied tight around his thin waist with a raggedy belt of his Uncle Vernon's. Once in a while, he wondered why they gave him their old clothes. It would look better for them to donate them and have him just buy from thrift stores.

Then again, the Dursleys did so hate to spend money on him. His glasses were old and scratched and had been broken more than once by Dudley's eager fists. The tape wasn't going to last much longer he was sure.

Harry made to exit his cupboard, only for a rough shove to send him sprawling to the floor. Harry scowled a little as the tiny door swung shut. He picked himself up and made his way forward again. Within minutes he was watching the bacon, listening to Petunia, who on most days looked like a horse to Harry and shouted like one, as she babbled on over her son's blonde and round head. She cooed at him in delight, as "eleven years old only came once in someone's life after all"!

Harry steadily ignored them, listening to the sound of the spice grinder with the coffee beans instead.

"Hurry up!" thumped the whale of a man from the other side of their son, mustache quivering.

"Yes Uncle Vernon," Harry replied, flipping the bacon with the tongs, followed by the sausages. He turned off the coffee maker and lifted himself on the step stool, a cautiously considered birthday present from Aunt Petunia when it was clear he would help (do work for) her in the kitchen and wasn't quite tall enough to do things without hurting himself. And punishments were different from incompetence. There would be too many questions about grease burns on upper arms.

There was a sudden, terrible wail from behind him. Harry made himself not turn, focusing on getting plates and tray tables filled in case Dudley decided to upend the whole thing before they could even eat. That had happened before when his grades and Harry's had come back at the same time and the teachers had informed the Dursleys that their son was only allowed to make it to the next grade if he helped out in the library and went to summer school three times a week.

It had been one of the only times both parents had had to put a foot down about their son. They'd even tried telling the teachers that Harry had cheated when he'd come by with positively average grades. But then the test scores had happened and they'd all left that building positively inflamed with embarrassment, even Harry himself. He also remembered having to sneak to the kitchen quite a lot after that.

So Harry hurried to set things out of Dudley's line of fire and his parents' stumbling reach, so nothing could fall and he be blamed for that as well.

"How many are there?" Dudley shouted, face rapidly turning red as a cherry. Harry ignored him, busying himself with putting salt in the coffee grinds, along with sugar.

"Thirty-six," Uncle Vernon said proudly. "Counted them myself."

"Thirty-six?!" The wail started up in the back of his throat again and Harry ducked. "Buh-hut last year I had thirty-seven, Dad!"

"Well some of them are quite a bit bigger than last year," Harry's uncle said as Harry handed him the coffee in its mug.

They were. Harry could see the bicycle that would last three days, the board games that would get pelted pieces at his head, the game station that would be thrown out of the bedroom window, the books that would be shredded. They should just give him money and be done with it.

Harry shuddered to think of the rotund boy with a credit card in his fat pockets.

"I don't care how big they are!" Dudley said with a stamp of his foot. His lower jaw was starting to wobble, which made his whole face wobble. It should have been funny but it never was. It meant trouble and more often than not, the Dursleys' tempers meant trouble for Harry. So he stayed off into the corner and scarfed down his own measly breakfast of runty bacon and burnt toast with ruined butter and the most overcooked egg as quickly as possible.

"How about this dear?" Aunt Petunia's voice was shaking a little itself, and it was always when the trembling started that Harry knew it was over. He wasn't as good at it, but he could do it. "When we go to the zoo today, on our way back, we'll buy you two new presents. Three if you're _really_ good. How's that pumpkin?"

Dudley's sour face eased up a little. "Well, well that's all right then, I suppose," he said, voice mildly less grumpy.

Harry dared to lower his shoulders.

There was a knock on the door.

"Mail's early," Uncle Vernon began, and Harry saw him exchange a glance with Aunt Petunia. That meant the mail wasn't early. It definitely wouldn't be. So what was it? Had they forgotten something? That wouldn't be good. Harry quickly moved the plates back and went to get the door. No one needed to ask him, and no matter how hungry he was, he didn't want to stay there and watch them decide to make him do it anyway.

So he went to the door. There was no mail, as expected. There was another knock, a little faster this time. So Harry opened it. He saw a tall woman, dressed in a tartan sweater and soft, worn slacks. Her red hair was tied up in a bun and she looked down at Harry for a moment like she expected mischief and mayhem in his wake, staring down his belt that held up Dudley's old pants. Then her eyes softened somehow, giving Harry this impression of a much nicer Mrs. Figg.

"Hello, young man, my name is Minerva McGonagall. I'm here on behalf of the Ministry Educational Department's Testing Branch. Is your family around?"

"Uhm…" Harry fidgeted. The Ministry? Like the government? What… what did they want with the Dursleys? Were Dudley's grades so bad that the government had to get involved? "They're in the kitchen, ma'am. Would you come in? I can fetch them."

"If you would be so kind."

Harry scurried away back into the kitchen, making sure the woman went into the sitting room before doing so. "Uncle Vernon," he said quickly. "Some woman from the Ministry wants to see you!"

"Someone from the _government?_ " Aunt Petunia narrowed her eyes. "What did you do, boy?"

"Nothing! I didn't do anything!" Harry protested. "I can't do anything with you locking me in the cupboard!"

Vernon narrowed his eyes at him. Harry was very close to the door and grateful for it. At least he could dodge from here. Petunia pet his arm. "Dear, we mustn't if they're in the house."

Vernon subsided, even while Dudley glared at Harry over the table.

"She asked for tea," Harry said, even though she hadn't. He went to the kettle anyway and began to fill it with water.

Petunia rose from her seat at the table, and her small portion, left unfinished, went into the sparkling new fridge. The Dursleys had such a love-hate relationship with the rapidly changing technology of modern society, something Harry had never understood, especially with their giant modern fridge. It was probably to look good. He watched her go, picking up the nice cups and the earl grey from the higher cabinet.

"We'll open your presents after we've chased her off, Dudley," Vernon said in a gruff voice. "Best behavior, now."

Dudley glared at Harry for a moment more. Then he nodded. "Three presents!"

"Four," Vernon said instead. Dudley beamed and scarfed down his breakfast practically in one gulp. Then he wiped his face and threw the dish almost at the sink. Harry ducked by reflex and focused on the kettle and the tea. The Dursleys left the room and for a moment, Harry was left alone in blissful silence.

Then Petunia _screamed_ , loud enough Harry thought the windows would shatter. " _You!"_

His uncle thundered right after. "You get out of my house! DId that boy call for you? What are you doing here, disturbing _normal_ people?"

Had Harry let a murderer into the house? Well he was definitely staying out of the room. If he got into the cupboard fast enough with the phone he would be able to call the police and be safe from harm. He just had to be fast enough… and running from Dudley made that possible.

Still, had to act natural, just in case.

He picked up the tea tray. Certain he wasn't going to buckle at its weight, he carried it through the door and towards the sitting room.

Dudley was clutched close to Aunt Petunia's chest like she was intending to shield him with her bony body. Dudley himself looked rather perturbed. Harry carefully set the tray on the nearest table. The woman nodded at him in gratitude, and wasn't that strange?

Vernon, however was very close to purple and swung around to face him. " _Did you call her boy?"_ he seethed.

Harry was lucky he didn't drop the tea tray. "I don't even know who she is!" he exclaimed, "I've never seen her before today!"

"Don't you lie to me-"

"Oh that is _quite_ enough." Something flashed in and out of existence before their eyes and suddenly Vernon was completely silent, mouth opening and closing but no words coming out.

"Dad!" Dudley shrieked, so much like his mother for a minute there.

"He will be fine, Mister Dursley." The woman's tone was quite snappish now. "I have caused him no harm and I _endeavor_ not to do so. Now, Mister Dursley, Mrs. Dursley, if you _do not_ mind. I would like to get all of you and Mister Potter up to speed. You are _quite_ close to being behind schedule." She cast a pointed look at Harry's aunt, who had puffed up a little the longer she had spoken.

Then, looking at her husband again, she ground out a single word. " _Fine."_

"Very well." The woman gestured to Harry. "Please sit. This will be a discussion that involves both of your boys and your family."

Petunia sniffed and Harry held back a snort. He wasn't their boy, and judging by the look on McGonagall's face, she didn't believe he was either. "In what sense?" She was more tense than usual, her bony shoulders so high they might be outreaching her ears.

The woman folded her hands into her lap. "As of 1992, the requirement by international law is that every child at the age of eleven is tested for their soul compatibility and to invite them possibly to our campus. We also offer the potential for remedial testing of the parents, to possibly educate them."

"Uhm." Harry didn't want to interrupt, it felt wrong somehow, but he thought he might as well because he was still lost. "Educate them, us, in what?"

And for a moment, the room chilled, so much it felt like winter in summertime as the woman stared at the Dursleys. If she could kill them, she would.

Then the room was sweltering hot against the air conditioning.

"Why, Mister Potter," she answered, too long to get an answer at all. "Magic of course."


	3. Chapter 3

_Warning for child abuse and self loathing_

* * *

 _Chapter Three - Magic_

Normally, Harry's school gymnasium was full of flying balls (mostly aimed at Harry if he wasn't careful), nets that sometimes liked to be shoved to fall on Harry, or the climbing ropes (which Dudley and his friends tried to make Harry let go of and fall to the floor). Now there were tables everywhere with all sorts of strange gadgets on them, flashing lights behind curtains, and people in varying styles of dress. McGonagall was not there, or at least not in plain sight. She had told him she wouldn't be, the day before.

"Move, boy," Vernon grunted behind him. For once he did not shove, swat, or push Harry out of the way, and for that Harry was extremely grateful. But then he couldn't because they were in public. And because he was sure, Harry was incredibly sure, that the threat the kind Ministry woman had left was very clear too.

 _You cannot escape magic any more than you can escape the fact that there have been stars in our sky,"_ she had said, looking them all over in turn. " _Until recently, we had no way of proving everything had magic, even the things we bring to life. But it's been the case since the fall of You-Know-Who, that we've had many, many breakthroughs in recent years, enough that it is time to recheck our spells and charms, if only to be sure. If only because some magics are different than others. So all of you must be leery. Not even you are empty and if that has been your justification thus far, let me assure you it will not be anymore._

Even though he was wearing clothes three times his size, he was happy to be here somehow. Harry stepped forward, looking about the room once more. Then a man in a lab coat came up to greet them, followed by a girl possibly Harry's age carrying clipboards. Harry could feel the Dursley's cringing as one awful mass at the sight of them. One with purple hair like flowers and one with blue and a face decorated in freckles. The little girl stopped in front of them first, examining the three of them before her eyes settled on Harry, and the scar peeking out from his messy bangs. For some reason, they widened a little. But then they narrowed a bit back to normal, settling into a blank expression.

It was plain weird.

"Hello," greeted the man, taking four of the clipboards from the girl's arms. "My name is Joe Kido and this here is Sayo. We'll be assisting you all today. And you are?"

 _Jo?_ There was something not quite right about how the person said his name. For now,

The girl moved as the man spoke, passing them clipboards in her hands. Then she was off to the people behind them, likely doing the same thing.

"Dursley," grunted Vernon. "And Potter."

Harry watched the recognition flicker again and a churlish dread rose up in his gut. Maybe he was already listed on record as being useless or terrible. Maybe this whole thing was just a great prank by the Dursleys in truth and they were all here to mess with him.

But the man still didn't acknowledge it outright. "Perfect! Sayo, will you come help Mr. Potter get acclimated? I'll be with the Dursleys. And we can send Mimi-k- Mimi down here for these next families with Kei."

"Yes sir," agreed the girl behind Harry, who she had circled back around to. The spark in her eyes was gone now for the moment. She merely regarded Harry once more. "Come along Mister Potter, we've got a lot of tests for you."

Dudley snickered behind him and the girl merely laughed in return, as if she too, found the situation funny. "Don't worry Mister Dursley you're participating as well."

The girl walked away. Harry looked back at the Dursleys for a moment, all of whom looked surly and uncomfortable. Then, with as much decisiveness as he could muster, he strode after her.

She glanced back at him and led him to a chair with what looked like one of those large lights you pressed down and they turned on. "Put your hand here please." Her voice was cheerful enough, like she hadn't been watching him before. Like before had only been a confirmation, nothing more.

Harry felt his shoulders slump as he placed his hand on the device.

"Deep breaths now, okay, Mister Potter?" Her little lilting voice was perfectly serene despite these strange, uncomfortable circumstances. "Just breathe and think of something new. Something curious."

"This whole place is curious," he blurted out. The girl laughed.

"It is, isn't it?" She sounded amused. "Just think on that. Close your eyes if it helps."

Think on a place where he wasn't being yelled at, where people treated him like he had half a brain, yes it was curious, wasn't it? It was almost… nice. For once he wasn't freezing cold in here either, he was actually comfortable. The Dursleys couldn't touch him here. Even if it was temporary, Harry Potter was fine.

His skin warmed, his clothes almost felt like they weren't tied three times over to fit. He almost felt… normal, as strange as that sounded.

"Did you know you're very famous, Mister Potter?"

"Harry," he said before he could stop himself, dragging himself to not lose that feeling over the sound of scratching pencil. "I'm just Harry. No one really calls me Potter." Even the Dursleys only called him _boy_ or some such except for today.

"Well, just Harry," the girl said to him and he could hear her smile. "You're pretty tough, and pretty famous."

Okay he could kind of guess the first part, despite the knobbly knees. Anyone who could handle escaping Dudley by jumping to the roof was probably a little tough. Though he assumed that was probably a bad thing. Tough kids were bad eggs if they weren't tough in the ways that mattered. That was Uncle Vernon's opinion.

"For what?"

Sayo tilted her head and looked suddenly much older than he was, though she couldn't have been more than ten herself. "I'm not the best person to tell you that," she said, brow furrowed. "Best to have an adult do it if I'm honest. I'll get sommat of it wrong. And it doesn't matter anyway, not to me. Right now you're just Harry and that's enough, innit?"

Harry stared at her a moment, having wanted to look at her and her strangely purple hair, then he nodded. "I reckon so."

"Good enough." she smiled. "Let's give you a chance now." She swapped the device his hand had been on before and replaced it with a white rope. The rope felt strangely waxy, like a thick candle wick. He curled his fingers around it like it was a large chopstick, and his hand warmed at once. The warmth spread so quickly that Harry felt his hair stand on end and he thought he was going to be on fire. He squeezed his eyes shut for a few moments until there was a gentle tug on the rope. Without thinking he tightened his grip. There was another tug, still gentle, but he tugged back. Sayo laughed.

"Open your eyes," she ordered and this, for whatever reason, Harry did so.

The lights had silently gone out, leaving the gymnasium in nearly pure darkness barring the light streaming from the windows and many, many children. Cords of gold spun across the floor, spreading at his feet and from person to person. Looking at himself, Harry too could see a pillar, steady and calm, quite unlike his now racing heart.

Despite himself, he turned his head and then his body. The other kids looked with wonder around the room, all sorts of golden light. All except one.

Dudley was glowing too, a strange, twisting, dull orange that ran like gears over his skin. His small blue eyes had gotten so big they eclipsed his palms and were the size of dinner plates.

"Mum!" he shrieked. "Dad! What's happening to me?"

But as Harry turned to look for his guardians, there they will, also aglow, an odd red and green.

And Aunt Petunia was crying.

For a moment he was angry, furious, mad as a coiled snake. _Why's it okay for her to cry?_ Then his chest filled with pity and he looked back towards Sayo. She was one of the only children not glowing, almost invisible in the pitch black.

But her eyes seemed to gleam.

"You can let go now, Harry," she said.

And he did, but like the food he hid into his coat and the patches and scraps he used on Dudley's hand-me-downs, he didn't quite want to.

* * *

The car ride back to the Dursleys had been silent, eerily still for the most part. Dudley was wrapped up in a blanket two sizes too small for him. Aunt Petunia was alternating between biting her handkerchief (Harry'd had no idea that wasn't just an expression) and crying into it in quiet, hoarse, hiccoughs. Uncle Vernon had such a tight grip on the steering wheel it was a miracle that they still had a steering wheel and not a hunk of plastic. Or that the veins on his uncle's hands hadn't exploded.

Harry? Harry was exhausted. But also, there was a steady warmth all the way to the tips of his fingers and toes. He wasn't smiling, he lived with the Dursleys, so he knew better than that. But he was still warm and fuzzy and if he closed his eyes, he could still see himself glowing.

That faded quickly when they got to the house. And Vernon turned to them all with a snarl. "Pack your things. We're leaving in the morning. No arguing." His face had been red with rage, but he hadn't sputtered or blustered or anything. Maybe it was just everything from today.

Or maybe it was the cat on the wall, looking at them with eyes that weren't like a cat.

So they'd all obeyed, though Dudley and his eighty-four presents weren't going to be saved.

"We'll come back," was all he managed to say in this tiny timid voice he only normally used when he was trying to get out of trouble. But now it sounded sad. "Right, Dad? I got school in September."

 _So do I,_ Harry thought with both mutiny and dread.

But Uncle Vernon didn't answer that, just told Dudley to go up and pack.

They left Harry alone.

Well, there was nothing new about that.

* * *

They spent the next two weeks stalked by letters. Every hotel, every little sneaking spot. All addressed to Harry at first glance, but slowly but surely, letters with the name _Dudley Dursley_ peppered their way in. And Petunia ripped sheets and nearly murdered things with her eyes alone and Dudley whined for his letter and went refused and Harry?

Harry watched them all.

He knew he shouldn't, really because freaks and unwanted children didn't stare at normal people. He'd never heard that from Petunia (she would just say staring was rude and he shouldn't. Be rude he was bad enough as it was) but he couldn't help but stare. Their whole lives were falling apart over some glowing and some letters and it could have all been a lie.

(He was doubting it though, he really was.)

They ended up on the sea, with a creaking old man and a centuries old storm, the man said. And the ship wasn't the cruises the Dursleys took pictures at, it was dingy and too small and Harry had to carry everything.

They were cold and alone and afraid, the Dursleys. And soon almost all of them were silent.

Three days passed in the howling storm.

It was July thirtieth, and midnight was beeping on Dudley's wrist.

And then the pain started.

All fire and circles and pieces and Harry Potter opened his mouth to let out a scream until 12:01 ticked by and everything fell still.

Then the shoddy cabin nearly fell with the knock at the door.


	4. Chapter 4

_Chapter Four - Everything You're Supposed to Be_

Harry was still wheezing for breath when there was a second thud on the door.. The wood made a noise of discomfort at the weight. Dudley squealed, bolting as deep into the shadows as possible. It was like someone had hit the door with a hammer instead of a fist. Heavy footsteps came from above as Uncle Vernon thundered down the stairs, a great rifle in both hands. He pointed the barrels towards the door.

"Stay back," he roared. "I'll have you know I'm armed!"

The answering response was another thud. Aunt Petunia squeaked.

Harry rose slowly, the pain receding in his stomach enough that it occurred to him that _maybe he should also get away from the door._

He tried, and was just in time for the entire wooden door to slam into the dirt floor with a cloud and a thud.

On the other side was a positive giant of a man, dwarfing the doorway and then some. Shaggy brown hair and a coat that could fit at least six Harrys and two Dudleys and still have some wiggle room, Harry took one look and almost considered jumping out the window to get away fast enough. But then he saw the man's eyes. A soft black, like beetles with their young, and glittering like the chalk on black paper.

"Yeh gave us a right run-around yeh did," bellowed the man. "All this fuss 'n everythin. Least yeh can do is let us shelter here fer a kip?"

"Hagrid," said a cheerful voice, though muffled through the walls. Harry could swear he had heard it before. "Mind pushing your way in? I don't like the water that much."

The man's face was almost impossible to see, but Harry thought he could imagine him flushing.

"Right yeh are." And he squeezed himself in masterfully through the door, its frame squeaking and bending and then smoothing back into place with almost no sound whatsoever. As he settled in someone slipped in after him. Both of them were positively drenched.

This did not deter Uncle Vernon in the slightest. In fact, he only raised the gun higher. "I demand you leave at once!" He roared. Spittle was flying from his mouth at this point. "You are… you are breaking and entering!"

The man bellowed out a laugh that almost shook up the walls. "Wouldna had ter if yeh hadn't fled like a buncha rabbits would I? Yeh had nothing to fear!" He patted down his moleskin overcoat as he spoke, eyes darting about the cabin. His eyes flickered to Dudley. "Guess that oughta be yer son eh? Thumpin' big boy yeh got there. Probably got the stamina of a young kneazle, he ought!"

A what? Harry couldn't help but think as the other person edged themselves out of the taller man's shadow. At the glimpse of purple whipping about, Harry felt the tension of his shoulders ease a little. He had recognized that voice.

Still. "Sayo? What are you doing here?" He had figured she would be helping with the testing and that's the end of it.

She waved at him. "Hullo, Harry Potter! I'm here because we're to read and translate the results of you and your relatives' Soul Ather Magical Examinations. Following that, we'll explain the plans for you all moving forward."

"There are no plans!" Vernon barked. He looked distinctly red at this point even in the dark, rapidly moving towards purple as the roof creaked. The rifle shifted in his hands, shaking like it was about to go off on its own. "You have broken into our residence! We don't owe you any-"

"No plans?" echoed the man. "No plans! Why that's dangerous, that is!"

"Not any more dangerous than what you lot did to my sister." Aunt Petunia's voice ached, but she was serene in her fury, glaring without fear of the clearly impossible.

Harry and Dudley both looked at the adults in terror, or in Harry's case, growing realization. "What they did?" He snapped before he could stop it, before he could stop all the feelings of inadequacy and bottle them up where they belonged. "You said a car crash! You said dad was a stupid drunk and mum a drop out!"

"At least that's normal!" Petunia said back, fierce and looking him in the eyes. And for the first time, Harry thought he really knew his aunt. His mom's sister. Who loved the normality, the peace. "At least you don't have to be sent away most of the year proper, in little hideyholes like _rats_. Better than being special, with juggling teacups that walked and strange pets! Better than being blown up for nothing and leaving your hardworking relatives to do all that mattered."

"Nothing!" thundered the man. "The Potters were good people! They were fightin' fer your good things, they was."

And Aunt Petunia stared at the giant of a man, unintimidated, or perhaps in a rage, and answered. "That doesn't make them any less _dead_ , you brute."

The giant man's eyes crinkled and he made a sound of discontent. "Suppose that's so. But Harry's alive, he is, and I take joy from that, even if you ain't." He gestured with one large hand to Harry's spot on the floor and Dudley's frantic ball on the couch.

"All right, enough of this, enough," Sayo said, watching Vernon's face turn to purple with little more than casual interest. "We don't have the legal rights over this. We are here to present your letters so the sooner we get through this, the sooner you can stop hiding on a rock."

Vernon sputtered but Harry stood, boiling over a little. There was so much he wanted to say, so much he wanted to yell and scream and howl at these people, these awful people who let their son chase him and beat him and destroyed him for any shred of imagination he had, who made him survive off of scraps and hand-me-downs out of fear. Nothing but fear. He had so much he wanted to say but he just… he couldn't.

He turned to Sayo instead, breathing hard through his nose. "Results?"

She bobbed her head, smiled again and held out one of the envelopes he just noticed in her hand. "That's correct." She tossed one to Dudley, and the last two landed unceremoniously by Vernon's feet. He yelped and almost fired the gun.

The giant of a man made a soft noise of discontent. "Yeh reckon that's enough of that gun, don' yeh? And yeh've done enough damage as is. No need to make it worse now." He sounded almost cajoling, like he was talking down an angry pet. Where was he even supposed to start with these people?

"Make what worse you brutes?!"

"Mister Hagrid, didn't you have something for Harry?" Sayo's voice was sharp now, watching Harry fumble at the papers with shaking fingers.

Hagrid turned away from the Dursleys now, aa smile lifting his beard so high Harry could see the man's shining teeth from the fire light. "Tha's right. But yer letter first."

Harry finally manages to rip open the letter and unfold thick, smooth paper. Four animals shifted around on what seemed to be a crest, with the word Hogwarts written in black. Beneath that in green ink was a short letter in tight, neat script.

"Dear Mr. H Potter,

Congratulations, we welcome you to the Digital Training Academy of Hogwarts School In Witchcraft and Wizardry."

Harry had to stop, look up in awe. "It's real then?"

"Real as you and me," Sayo agreed with a light smile.

"And you'll be a thumpin' good one I wager," agreed Hagrid, whose bright eyes and genuine hulking warmth made Harry's heart hurt. "Just need some trainin'. Dumbledore'll be takin' an interest in yeh as always if you pick the righ' classes."

"Magic tricks from a crackpot old fool!" Uncle Vernon had found his voice again. "I'll not have it, for any of us. I swore I'd create a normal boy out of that rat and I won't pay a cent to not!" His jowls were quivering at this point, eyes almost nothing but pupils.

"Crackpot?!" snapped Hagrid, who had turned away again. The Dursley's quailed, Dudley leaping back to the safety of his parents. "How dare yeh? How dare yeh insult the man who gave me a future? A life?" He lifted something from a pocket, a rather frilly, beaten up, pink umbrella. He points it at them for a moment, and they tremble.

"Hagrid." Sayo's voice was gentle. "Let the professor deal with this. Not you. He'd be sad if you were hurt for him."

Hagrid takes a deep breath and slowly settled, looking for all the world like he'd rather not settle. He thrusts his umbrella towards the logs and with barely a breath, there was a warm fire crackling close by. Harry scooted to it and sat down, the letter still in hand. Hagrid turned with him, blocking the Dursleys from view. The family scrambled up the stairs, leaving the three of them alone and their bravado forgotten.

"Go on Potter," Sayo says. She sat primly on the abandoned sofa.

"The Hogwarts Academy boasts the honor of hosting all of the Education of the Magical and Soulful Youth in the United Kingdom, Ireland, surrounding islands and areas of Europe from ages eleven to seventeen. It is a required component of all magical and soulful youth, lest you run the risk of soul outbursts and internal magical damage." That sounded ominous. "You are required to attend for all seven years barring extenuating circumstances. Your acceptance is awaited by owl or other forms of physical message. Email, text, or Mystery Gift is no longer accepted by law. We await your response by August First at the latest. Yours most sincerely, Minerva McGonagall."

Harry looked up. "She came to the Dursleys!"

"She's supposed t', if you don't grow up with any magic at all, like those lumps." Hagrid jerked a thumb in their direction. "Spect they were supposed to tell you."

Harry made a face, and nodded. "Guess not."

Hagrid smiled through his beard. "You'll be jes' fine, 'arry. Come on now, got some sausage and-" He reached a hand into one hand and unveiled a large, white box. "Sommat for you. Might be a bit squished, we were sitting a mite often."

Harry opened the box to see his name misspelled in frosting, the smell of chocolate wafting in the air with buttercream.

Harry couldn't stop himself. He began to cry.

"Th-Thank you," he blubbered, face flushing with heat.

The man's eyes sparkled with genuine joy. "Course. Every birthday deserves a cake."

Harry nodded, gulping down air. Sayo offered him a handkerchief, face solemn.

"Let's steal your cousin's stuff and have a sleepover," she said. Harry couldn't help but smile through the puffy eyes and do so.

The Dursleys never came down, or if they did, Harry didn't notice. Not until the morning, when Dudley was looming over him with one raised fist. The other clutched an open envelope, his eyes puffy with tears and a rage Harry had never quite seen before from Dudley. His father yes, but never Dudley. An absolute, wild, unforgiving loathing.

"You," he said. "You infected me… with your freakiness! Take it back! I don't want it!"

Harry blinked blearily, blinked through his first good sleep in a long time. And he didn't know where the words came from, but he said them anyway. "No fixing what you already are."

Because, as he lay there, wrapped in a giant coat and full from sausage and cake, Harry realized the truth.

He wasn't the freak. He wasn't the weird one. _They were._ He was Harry Potter. He was himself. And there were others like him. It didn't matter that Dudley had these weird powers too, or that his parents might. He had met two people who would give him a birthday cake and defend him from these people who were supposed to be his family. They were the normal people. They were the good people.

And there could only be more. What did he have to fear from a bunch of bullies like this?

Dudley made to swing down, but he ended up flying backwards, the tip of a pink umbrella having jabbed at the air. Dudley fell in a heap and with another jab, he was oinking, literally oinking.

"Well," Hagrid grumbled sleepily. "That oughta take care of 'im, innit? Least for a while."

Sayo giggled and Harry smiled so wide it hurt. "Wicked," he whispered. "Do I learn to do that?"

"All sorts," Hagrid replied, a proud look on his face. "But yeah, that too."


	5. Chapter 5

_Early parts of the supply list comes from Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone._

* * *

 _Chapter Five - The Cat and the Alley_

Minerva preferred, as a few of her younger colleagues observed with dismay, to be up with the sun and down not long after the moon rose and dinner was served. She used every spare moment to grade papers, wander the grounds, do her patrols, everything that needed to be done. Hence why on the morning of July thirty-first, she was up and bustling past the preparations for tomorrow's Summer Memorial to grab a breakfast and retreat from the future bustle of her fellow teachers, some of whom were still young enough to be students at times as far as she was concerned.

"You've got a message," came from her window when she returned. The large orange and black cat rolled into the sun, her voice half a yawn as she spoke. "No viruses, sender's Hagrid." A pause. "Marked Code Orange."

"Is it a child acceptance?" Minerva sipped her tea from a thermos. It was early morning and no one could judge. "He knows better than that, surely."

"It's an emergency awareness, more like." The cat wrinkled her nose. "He turned himself into a pig."

Minerva almost choked on her tea. "Who was it?"

"Name of Dursley. The parents are apoplectic, Hagrid thought it best to get the Potter boy out of there quick as he was able."

Minerva resisted the careworn urge to bury her face in her sleeves. "Hagrid, was it really necessary? To the child?"

"Defense of a minor, it says. He'd only intended to back the boy off of Potter but the magic did one of its funny things you accuse it of." The cat's golden eyes regarded her. "Kid's got the results though. Shouldn't be too surprising things acted up."

"Indeed." Minerva pursed her lips. A Dursley in their school. It was concerning. The Dursleys were those conspicuously safe kind of people, the ones that only pretended to be important because they knew enough who mattered, who confused safety and controllable with happiness, normality with perfection.

And from what little she had of the results, the only one who'd lacked much of a spark of Soul, let alone a connection to magic, was the father, and even that was not a fault of his own. It was a single accident in college and it had nearly closed him to their world forever.

Minerva doubted anyone would have noticed, but the point remained.

She hadn't seen all of what had been done to little Harry Potter, but comparing the boys side-by-side was enough to guess. She would imagine if they didn't handle this next month carefully, it would surely only get worse. That was what made Hagrid separating them a good call.

She wasn't certain that using magic had been but the man got protective when he chose to be. "I'll have to delegate someone to see to the Dursleys." She was stuck seeing some family of dentists while their daughter shopped with a magical family. They needed a streamlined dental service here at Hogwarts for Pomfrey's sake, and their daughter had shown such a strong soul spike it'd apparently broken one of the machines. Fascinating. If only Muggle technology was built better sometimes, rather than out of expendability.

"You could send Snape," drawled her cat.

Minerva snorted into her biscuit. "Not even I am that cruel, Meicoomon." Severus pretended he was over his problems, but she could recall weeks of the words Potter and Petunia being grumbled by a gangly, skinny boy and a bright scrap of a girl and the way the man's eyes flashed the closer they came to Halloween every year. She wasn't going to poke that bee's nest.

"If you say so, Minnie." The cat rolled from the window. "Then send Pomfrey. She'll want to look at the boy anyway."

She supposed that was so. Minerva paused, ignored the nickname, then continued. "You just want to see her arrest the Dursleys don't you?"

"Only if you do."

Digimon partners were a blessing and a curse on the Magical community. Minerva always thought so, but only more so at this moment. "Very well, I shall message Poppy. And you shall message Severus to make sure he actually gets the health regimen ingredients and potions ready on time this year. If we have another collection of unhealthy children again, I'd rather us be ready before the Weasley twins can turn them into liquid marshmallow."

Meicoomon _cackled_ but left to obey anyway.

Minerva finished her breakfast and looked up at one of the walls of her simple room. "Lily… James, the time is growing short," she said to the portrait on one side.

The redhead on one side, leaned towards the bassinet, winked at her. Then the man on her right disappeared, like he'd never been at all.

Minerva left the room and headed towards the staff lounge. It would be a long day still, not counting the effort it would take after this to convince the Weasleys that yes, it was perfectly natural for the school to buy the supplies with their children, it was hardly pity.

* * *

At first glance, Magical London looked almost like the few times he's visited regular London. He doesn't say Muggle because that sounds weird, intentionally stupid, mean. But Sayo gave him a nudge, gently, always gently with him it made him feel a little like glass, and Harry turned his head to see a rather dingy looking pub off to the side of an alley.

"There's our way in, it is. Got yer supply list Harry?" Hagrid was beaming all over again, as if he knew every smile made Harry grin back. He unfolded it.

"First-year students will require," he read, eyes slowly growing wider at every word.

"Uniform  
Three Sets of Plain Work Robes (Black)

One Plain Pointed Hat (Black) for day wear  
One Pair of Protective Gloves (dragon hide or similar)  
One Winter Cloak (Black, silver fastenings)

Multiple pairs of pajamas

Three sets of active wear

Two pairs of respective boots, sneakers, and slippers.

One set of black ties

One new wardrobe set for formal and informal events

One pair of reinforced Goggles

Please note that all student's clothes should carry name-tags at all times.

Books

 _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1_ by Miranda Goshawk

 _A History of Magic_ by Bathilda Bagshot

 _The Times of Old_ by Takeru Takaishi  
 _Magical Theory_ by Adalbert Waffling  
 _A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration_ by Emeric Switch  
 _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_ by Phyllida Spore  
 _Magical Drafts and Potions_ by Arsenius Jigger

 _Introduction to Digimon Taming_ by Gorou Mizuno and Newt Scamander  
 _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ by Newt Scamander  
 _The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection_ by Quentin Trimble

 _Soul Colors and Soul Powers: A Child's Guide_ by Spencer Daimon

 _Youthful Programming_ by Inoue Miyako

 _The Code Connection: Using the World Around You_ by Izumi Koushiro

Other Equipment  
1 Wand

1 Satellite  
1 Cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)  
1 set of glass or crystal phials  
1 telescope  
1 set of brass scales

1 beginner's potions ingredients set

1 trunk, with undetectable extension and multiple compartments

1 computer building set

1 first aid kit

1 survival pack

1 digimon partner

1 digivice

Students may also bring an Owl, a Cat or a Toad.

PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS NOR PARTNERS FROM HOME.."

Harry breathed out after a few moments of catching his breath. "That's a lot!" And most of it made no sense.

"All schools are covering two different programs now," said Sayo, who was watching Hagrid move them through the crowd towards the dingy pub. "The West is a bit behind other countries in integrating magic and Digimon, you see."

"Integrating _what_?" Because he could believe in magic, he had seen magic all last night, but he'd never heard of the second bit.

"Digimon," she said and the girl was beaming a little as she spoke. "Digital Monsters. Technology. In the 30's someone found hints of another world. One that overlaps with this one, and the connection's only grown stronger with the more technology we have. It was enough that wizards took notice and well, the world's changed. It's just England's been slow with everything that's going on. Most countries have altered their curriculum a lot but the wizarding and non-magical ministries are up in arms about it at each other every time they talk. So they say."

"Tha's the gist of it," Hagrid agreed. "Is a bloody mess, is why Dumbledore, yer headmaster, Harry, stays outta it. Mind people keep tryna drag him in, but is not gonna work. He's got enough t' do."

A resentful, angry question rose up, but Harry swallowed it. He liked these two and he didn't want to ask them something there's no way they'd know. So he decided to ask a question they might. "How am I going to pay for all this? I haven't any money."

Hagrid chuckled a little. "Yer parents didn't leave you with nuffink, Harry. Those ruddy Dursleys just couldn't get their hands on it and neither could you cos of 'em. But now that yer here, yer gonna get a chance."

Harry couldn't help but doubt that. Sayo moved behind him. "Don't worry Harry," she said. "I'm getting my stuff today too. I know just what to get." She paused. "It's gonna be a long day though."

Harry shook his head. "I'm fine!" And really, he was. Being able to get his own things, with maybe his _own money_ , he wouldn't dare jeopardize that by being something silly like being tired.

He followed after Hagrid, whose bulk alone caused tables to fly aside like stung children. A few people shifted in their chairs but for the most part, the customers ignored them, which felt very familiar.

"Need a pick-me-up Hagrid?" called the bartender, sounding so joyful it almost hurt. "It's getting about that time." A few people at the bar laughed.

Hagrid waved a large hand. "'Fraid not, Tom. Hogwarts business fer me. You'll understand. Got to get a few students their supplies y'see."

"Ah well, feel free to come by when you're done." Tom didn't even glance behind the man, but customers did and a few caught sight of Harry, even in the dingy gloom of the bar. They examined him lazily, only to lock eyes on the scars trailing down his hands and all the way to his forehead.

To be honest, in the rush of everything he'd rather forgotten about them.

One of the gawkers,however, did notice. "Merlin's beard," they breathed. "That's Harry Potter, it is."

Harry barely saw the man's face before the entire room was rushing to get a closer look at his face, at him. Hagrid brandished his umbrella to push them away, but they were a babble of voices and hands, eager to see him, and Harry for the life of him did not know why.

The next thing he knew, he was hoisted high in the air, landing neatly on Hagrid's shoulder. Sayo had climbed onto a table and was jumping from one to the next as Hagrid moved forward.

"Back! Back, I say! You lot let the boy breathe! Let 'im get his supplies for Merlin's sake." He kept walking on, oblivious to the people reaching up his spine until the door to the back alley swung open. Harry made sure to duck as it closed behind them.

"What was that?" Harry managed to say, climbing down with Sayo's help.

"You being famous," Sayo said with a wave of her hand. "Better get used to it. Magical gossip has a long shelf life. Yours is ten years strong."

"Famous for what?" Surely surviving the Dursleys wasn't an achievement.

"Surviving You-Know-Who o' course," said Hagrid with a shake of his head.

"I don't know who," Harry said and Hagrid smiled at him once more, tapping a brick.

"Be glad yeh don't. Fer now…"

Harry watched as the bricks shuffled back, revealing building after building of shining shops, each full of sound.

"Welcome," Hagrid told a gaping Harry. "To Diagon Alley."


End file.
